


Up at Night

by bioloyg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Brief Mentions of Blood, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, M/M, Roommates, Samtember, Scary Movies, Sharing a Bed, Winter Falcon, only a little bit of angst tho, so if that appeals to you you should read these soft nerd boys fallin' for each other, soft nerd boys, that's apparently the vibe everyone is getting, yeah idk what else to put I'll probably come back like I usually do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: With Halloween nearing, Sam is feeling more in the mood for a scary movie than usual. He'd never watch one on his own though, so he invites his roommate to pick one out and join in on movie night.orPrompt fill for Samtember~"It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunaaltare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaaltare/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill for both my 100 follower celebration and Samtember that was given to me by the lovely [lunaaltare](http://lunaaltare.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. You can find that prompt [here](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/post/150154922225/head-canon-that-sam-is-the-biggest-bitch-when-it).
> 
> I ended up picking this one because I recently watched Paranormal Activity 3 and I am a COMPLETE fucking wuss. I hate scary movies with all of my body, but I really wanted to watch one for whatever reason. Anyway, my roommate thought it would be funny to scare me after we watched it and I legitimately would have punched them in the throat if their hands hadn't been in the way. So! You guys get something like that but with SamBucky and gay feelings.
> 
> NOTE: If blood squicks you out there's a brief mention of one of the characters getting his bloody nose cleaned up about halfway in.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Unbeta'd because it's short. Any and all mistakes are mine.

It’s dark in the apartment when Sam gets this idea into his head. Just after dusk when the sky still shows hints of the sun that’s now tucked beneath the horizon. The apartment is quiet, decorated from head to toe with Halloween decorations, and dimly lit save the orange fairy lights along the molding of the doors. Bucky likes to go all out for the holidays – something about not being able to when he was a kid. Sam humors him, lets him string up lights wherever so long as they don’t touch the door to _his_ room. His room is off limits from Bucky’s bullshit.

Still, Bucky has a way of being contagious. Whether it’s actual sicknesses (because he doesn’t know how to wash his damn hands when it counts) or his moods, varies, but right now Sam is feeling a little more in the Halloween spirit than usual. Something about all of the decorations in the apartment makes Sam feel a little homesick.

Sam’s sister used to go _all out_ for Halloween. Sure, she decorated, but her _real_ favorite thing to do when Halloween rolled around was watch scary movies and make badass costumes. Now, whatever disadvantage Sarah had as the only sister in the household with two brothers annoying her at every turn, she more than made up for it with her stomach for the truly obscene and horrific.

You think the classics like _Jason_ and _Children_ _of the Corn_ were scary? Think again. That shit was all child’s play according to Sarah. And whenever Sam would insist on something lighter like _Hocus Pocus_ or _Ghostbusters_ , she would laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up while putting on _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_.

Come to think of it, Sam isn’t so sure why this is a memory that’s suddenly got him feeling wistful. His sister was a menace – and he _hates_ scary movies.

He shakes his head and looks toward his roommate’s door. It doesn’t matter what the reason is, Sam is just in the mood for something a little spooky. It’s autumn and the leaves are turning, he and Bucky just carved pumpkins the other day, and the wind is starting to feel crisp. The mood is right for a scary movie, and for once Sam agrees. He figures he might as well go with it before the feeling passes. Plus, how awful could it be? He’s not eleven anymore, he’s in his twenties. He can take it.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam calls towards the closed door.

Bucky takes a moment to open his door, and when he does peek out of it, it looks as if he was asleep. “Mm, what do you need?”

Sam takes in Bucky’s mussed hair and five o’clock shadow. He looks like a bum, but a bum that Sam finds endearing. A bum Sam may or may not have caught feelings for. He pushes that thought to the side with an eye roll and says, “You wanna watch a scary movie?”

 _That_ seems to wake Bucky up. He chokes on a laugh and says, “ _You_ … Watch a scary movie?”

“Did I stutter?” Sam wonders, mildly annoyed. He lifts his chin and says, “What are you _scared_?”

Bucky stands up and opens his door, revealing his half-clothed body. He rests his right arm on the doorframe and gives Sam a once over with a critically narrowed gaze. Whatever he sees makes him grin, sharp like the Cheshire cat and up to no good. “Okay, _fine_. I’ll watch a scary movie with you. But I get to pick.” He wets his lips and his smile gets even wider. “If you think you can handle that.”

Sam turns away with a sigh and says, “Save your posturing, pretty boy. I wanna watch something before it gets too late.”

“Pretty boy, huh?”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Sam says, keeping him on track.

Bucky huffs and pops back into his room only to come out with a well-worn shirt that was probably a vivid navy blue about five years ago. Sam recognizes it as one of Bucky’s favorites. The sleeves are baggy enough to hide the sharp edges of his prosthetic. The very same one that left characteristic indentations on his left cheek when he, most likely, accidentally fell asleep on it in the middle of studying.

Ohhh _midterms_.

“Why does it matter how late you watch it?” Bucky asks. “Half the fun is staying up until it’s 3 a.m. wondering where you went wrong.”

“I already know where I went wrong,” Sam replies evenly. “It was the day I signed a lease with _you_.”

That earns Sam a chuckle. Bucky plops down onto the couch and pats the space beside him. “You’re only lying to yourself, Sam.”

Sam shrugs and sits on the other end of the shitty leather couch they scavenged from one of the furnished dorms that was redecorating. “I guess you’re alright.”

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line and shoots Sam a look. “You love me and everyone knows it.”

Anxiety stabs at Sam’s core for a split second before he realizes Bucky is just joking. He shakes his head in fond irritation and says, “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now what are we watching?”

“What are you in the mood for? You’re the one who wanted to watch a scary movie.”

Sam falls back into the couch and lets out a sharp breath as he looks up at the ceiling. “You said you were picking.”

 “I didn’t tell you to pick, I’m asking what general theme you’re looking for. Gimme something to go on.” Bucky turns to Sam and lifts his eyebrows, as if to say, _well_?

If only Sam knew. Right now, all he can think about is what a bad idea this will probably be. He’s not sure if that means he should go for broke and watch something he knows will fuck him up for a week, or if he should err on the side of caution. He chooses the out by playing the lottery and says, “I don’t really care. Surprise me.”

Bucky takes a deep breath; his eyebrows are raised comically high. “Are you feeling okay? I could’ve sworn you hated scary movies.”

“I do,” Sam says lazily as he turns to Bucky. “But it’s been a while since I’ve seen one, so I’m in the mood.”

“In the mood…” Bucky repeats, looking Sam over. His gaze lingers just a bit before he tears it away and stands up. He clears his throat. “I’ll pick something out, just lemme grab my laptop.”

“Don’t forget the HDMI cord,” Sam calls out as Bucky heads for his room.

~

 _Seven days_ the television rasps, like a whisper amidst the trees. Sam’s skin crawls and his stomach rolls. The twinkling fairy lights dangling around their living room cast eerie shadows about the walls, and the subtle chirp of the crickets outside sets Sam on edge.

Throughout the course of the movie, _The Ring,_ Sam has shrunk further and further backward into the couch in hopes that it’ll swallow him whole. Unfortunately, it has done nothing more than spit Sam back out to face the television like a big kid.

His sister would laugh.

 At some point during the movie Bucky brings out a blanket only to have Sam steal it and hide himself away in it. But even that isn’t enough.

Sam casts a furtive glance in Bucky’s direction every so often, especially when he knows something bad is about to happen. Each time he slips further and further into Bucky’s orbit until, finally, Bucky sighs and says, “Come here ya wimp,” and lifts his right arm so that Sam can fit against him.

Sam wriggles into the space and then crosses his arms. “Oh shut _up_. I saw you jump when that guy got murdered.”

Bucky drops his arm and squishes Sam against his before he grumbles, “Whatever.”

Bucky puts up a good front every once in a while, but Sam can tell Bucky’s just as bothered by the movie as he is. It just manifests in a different way.

Now that Sam is tucked beneath his arm, Bucky isn’t afraid to squeeze him just a little bit tighter when the music crescendos, signaling an important moment. They lean into each other, now sharing the blanket, and eventually link hands only to tighten their grips when they get scared.

When the movie ends, with static and questions unanswered, Sam sits up and grabs the remote for the television. He turns the TV off forcefully and says, “Hell no.”

“What?” Bucky asks.

Sam turns to him and makes a face. “‘What?’ You know damn well _what_. What the hell kind of ending is _that_? She just sends the tape to another person? They don’t even beat the thing?”

Bucky grins like an idiot and then starts laughing. “That’s what makes it a good movie!”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’re gonna think about it for a while, aren’t you?” Bucky asks, leaning forward. “Wonder who else gets the tape. If that thing is still out there… lurking in the shadows as it waits for the week to end.” He gets closer and closer, creeping towards Sam.

Sam pushes him away by his shoulder and gets up. “ _Don’t_.” He grabs the blanket covering them, even though it’s one of Bucky’s, and wraps it around himself before stalking off toward his room. “Good _night_.”

“Hey, that’s _my_ blanket,” Bucky squawks.

“That’s nice.”

For a moment Sam thinks that’s it. Bucky doesn’t reply or ask for his blanket again and most of the lights in the living room go off. Both of them are obviously headed to bed; it’s late. So, Sam gets his shirt off to change into pajamas, but then he hears, “Hey Sam, can you come help me with something?”

Normally, Sam would say no, but this late at night he knows that Bucky’s probably only asking because he took his prosthetic off for bed. The thing is a pain in the ass to put back on when you’re tired, Sam knows that much. Bucky probably forgot to do something before he took the prosthetic off.

So, Sam lets out a deep sigh and tosses his shirt into the hamper by his door. “Yeah hold on. I’ll be right there.”

When he steps out of his room he’s greeted with near darkness. The main lamp in the living room is off and only half the fairy lights are on – not that their orange glow does anything substantial for Sam’s eyesight anyway. He hates them, if he’s being honest, what with the way they drag out the shadows of the many fake spiders stuck to their wall and highlight the worst features of the stupid plastic witch hanging in the middle of the room.

Unlike the witch, Bucky is _not_ in the living room. He sounded like he was, but he could’ve easily gone into his bedroom, which would make sense.

“Bucky?” Sam calls out into the darkness. There’s no answer. Sam takes a deep breath and crosses the living room, praying he doesn’t stub his toe on anything. He should’ve brought his phone for a flashlight.

He’s just passing the kitchen when someone jumps out at him, attempting to grab him. Of course, Sam does what comes reflexively and _punches_. Except… He doesn’t get a fight like he would have if it were an intruder. Instead, Sam hears, “Ah! Jesus _Christ,_ Sam.”

Sam’s fight or flight response, obviously fight in this case, dies down and he lets out an aggrieved noise. He’s knows that voice. There’s really only one person it could be. That person is obviously an idiot, too.

Annoyed, Sam stomps to the side and turns on one of the main lights. Both he and Bucky wince as soon as they’re up, but Sam is wincing more so for Bucky than himself. To put it lightly, Sam is definitely prepared should an intruder ever dare set foot into their apartment. Bucky, on the other hand, might not be. The blood dripping out of his nose says as much.

Sam makes a face and sucks a sharp breath inward. Mentally, he says, _ouch_. Out loud he says, “Bucky, as bad as I feel, how exactly did you see that turning out?”

Bucky holds his right hand to his face. His voice is muffled and nasal. “Not like that, that’s for sure.”

Another groan slips past Sam’s lips, and this time it’s quiet yet exasperated. Fond despite it all. Sam corrals Bucky toward the kitchen sink and leaves for a moment to gather things. When he comes back it’s with a hand towel and a first aid kit.

Bucky looks at him and scrunches his eyebrows together. “No,” is all he says. Before Sam can reply he adds, “I can clean it up myself, it’s fine.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up and let me see if I broke your nose, Bucky.”

He’s met with understandable resistance and a large dose of embarrassment that seems to be rolling off of Bucky in waves, but Sam works past it to say, “Listen, if it’s broken, I have to set it. Stop being _difficult_.”

Bucky huffs and drops his right hand. His nose already looks bruised, and the blood running down his face has dried in certain places already. Sam shakes his head and wets the wash cloth with warm water, but Bucky flinches just as Sam is about to clean the area.

After a tense pause Sam says, “I’ll be gentle. Promise.”

There’s something in Bucky’s eyes that gets lost in translation then, and Sam has a feeling that what Bucky says has nothing to do with the look. “It’s n– yeah, sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as soon as Sam’s left hand touches his cheek. He leans into the touch for support like a flower seeking out the sun. Sam almost feels guilty, but Bucky should’ve known not to sneak up on him after they watched a scary movie.

With a quiet laugh to himself, Sam gently wipes away the blood from Bucky’s nose, mouth, and chin. The whole situation almost feels removed from reality. Tangential to everything else going on but twice as important. They’re so _close_. Sure, Bucky is always close to Sam in some way or another, between them living together and being best friends of sorts, but this seems different.

The way Bucky’s breathing catches when Sam brushes the towel over his lips is nothing Sam has experienced before. He’s never felt the way Bucky breathes, or even considered it. Why would he? It’s borderline trivial.

And yet, it feels oddly intimate being at such short range, being able to count each eyelash on Bucky’s face, being able to smell Bucky’s shampoo. Suddenly, Sam wonders if Bucky would feel this juxtaposed in his own universe looking at _Sam_ up close. If Bucky would look into his dark eyes and notice that there are at least three different shades of brown, or that one of his pupils is just slightly smaller than the other.

As if the powers that be are listening, Bucky’s eyes open abruptly, and it’s only then that Sam realizes he’s stopped wiping blood from Bucky’s face. Faltered in his ministrations. But neither of them moves. Bucky’s eyes flit back and forth between Sam’s and soften, but instead of softening with appreciation they look sad and worn. Sam opens his mouth to say something, but finds he has nothing on his tongue except questions, none of which he can voice. So, he closes his mouth and smiles placidly.

Bucky blinks, finally ending their nerve wracking staring contest, and slowly picks his face from Sam’s hand. Sam lets the toweled hand fall first and then the other. He takes a step back then and fiddles with the towel with both hands. “There, all cleaned up.” Whatever he’s feeling in the moment, his voice betrays him by coming out gravelly, like he’s just woken up.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Bucky jokingly asks. “Are you gonna have to cut it off?” His tone of voice seems mismatched for their conversation too.

Sam ignores it and rolls his eyes. “No, but you’re gonna have to cut it _out_. I could’ve really hurt you.”

“You _did_ ,” Bucky intones.

Sam throws the towel into their kitchen sink to deal with later and waves a hand through the air, a vague motion. “You know what I meant.”

Bucky lets out a shallow breath. “All I know right now is that I need some Tylenol and a nap.”

“It’s one in the morning. You don’t need a nap; you need to go to bed.”

“Whatever, same difference.” With one last look in Sam’s direction, Bucky pushes himself off of where he was leaning against the kitchen counter and sink, and pads to his room. At his doorway he stops and turns his head to the side to say, “G’night, Sammy.”

Something in Sam’s stomach swirls then, either butterflies or birds of prey. His lips quirk up at one corner. “Night, James.”

~

Sam stares up at his ceiling, each of his hands placed neatly beneath his head, and sighs. If he looks at the clock he’ll get freaked out. Especially if it’s the witching hour. Sam will never forgive his sister for making him watch _The Exorcism of Emily Rose_. Never. That shit is _still_ stuck in his head almost ten years later.

He considers playing on his phone for a little bit, and _does_ , but eventually he realizes that will only keep him up later. So, here he is, staring at a ceiling. Thinking.

It’s not pleasant or _un_ pleasant. It’s mostly confusing. That’s probably what’s keeping Sam up actually; the confusion. Well, that and the fact that he’s scared shitless whenever he hears a sound and his eyes are closed. But he’s mostly thinking about his… feelings.

Some of them are recent, like how he feels when he sees Bucky in the morning. Those feelings shifted from, _there’s my scruffy ass best friend_ to _he’s oddly cute when his five o’clock shadow is on the run_. And then there’s the newest line of thoughts, where Sam wonders if Bucky feels the same. But, Sam’s not even sure exactly what _he’s_ feeling. Sometimes he jokes and says indigestion, but the fact of the matter is, when he and Bucky make dinner together and sit down to watch one of their shared shows, Sam feels content.

That feeling of contentment is both new and old.

It’s not as if Sam wasn’t content before, he very much was. He enjoyed where he and Bucky were as friends and how their friendship was evolving. But now, when they end up pressed against one another on the couch during a movie, Sam isn’t just doing it to sap Bucky’s warmth and be annoying, he’s doing it because the way he and Bucky fit together feels nice.

“Eugh,” Sam groans and shoves his face into his pillow. _This is ridiculous._

A knock sounds out against Sam’s door, startling him from both his thoughts and his _skin_. It’s almost three in the morning… He considers grabbing the scissors on his nightstand to use as a weapon when he hears, “It’s me, can I come in?”

Bucky then.

“Uh, sure. Gimme a sec,” Sam says as he slides off his bed. He turns on his bedside lamp and sighs, thinking about how much he doesn’t want to put on sweatpants, but he puts them on anyway. Grudgingly.

He opens his door only enough so that he can see through it and finds Bucky in a similar state of undress, but with a pillow under his right arm. Sam’s face scrunches up. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other and shrugs. “Nothing, just – would you…” He trails off and looks to the side only to suck a big breath inward and say absolutely nothing. His chest falls again when he breathes out.

“Would I what?” Sam asks, picking up where Bucky left off.

Bucky’s face twists into something painful, like he might be sick. “Would you – _Do_ you… Is it okay if I –”

“Oh my god, Buck, spit it _out_. I’m not gonna bite.”

“You definitely _punch_ though,” Bucky mutters under his breath. At the look on Sam’s face, Bucky heaves a prolonged sigh and says, “Would it be okay if I slept in your room tonight?”

 _Oh_ … Hm. Sam tilts his head to the side in thought. This isn’t anything new either, but for some reason Bucky is acting like he did the first time he asked Sam. Uneasy, embarrassed, and flighty. Then again, he _had_ asked if Sam would “sleep with him,” and that was a _very_ big mess at the time.

“Sure,” Sam answers slowly. “Have the dream again?”

Bucky looks up then, seemingly confused, and goes, “Wha- oh, _no_. No, it’s just...”

Sam takes a deep breath and pulls as much patience from his reserve stores as possible. “It’s just _what_?”

“… My room – it’s like my TV is staring at me. I feel like that _thing_ is gonna pop out of it at any second.”

Sam stares at Bucky for at least twenty seconds, mouth agape. When he finally snaps out of it he doubles over laughing. “Oh my god. And you were making fun of _me_.”

Bucky makes a noise of distaste in the back of his throat and pushes Sam’s door open, inviting himself in. “Shut up, _Wilson_.”

“Sure, just come right in.”

“Thanks,” Bucky responds bitterly as he stalks toward Sam’s bed.

Sam lets out an amused huff. “Y’know my boyfriend wouldn’t be very happy if he knew you were in my bed right now.”

Bucky snorts. “What boyfriend?” He plops down onto Sam’s bed and picks the side closest to the wall. The corner where all the pillows are strategically lined up for Sam to fall back on. The _best_ side of the bed.

Sam purses his lips, knowing full and well that it’s Bucky’s turn to be on the pillowed side. He pauses mentally when he realizes they sleep in the same room often enough that they have a schedule for who gets the good side of the bed. Then he mentally bats the thought away because it’s too much.

“Oh, y’know. Just some guy I met last week when Steve and I were out for drinks.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You never mentioned him to _me_.”

Sam closes the door to his room and walks over to the bed. He crosses his arms as he looks down at Bucky and says, “Why should I have to?”

There’s _something_ on the tip of Bucky’s tongue that looks like it’s laced with venom, but he closes his mouth for a few seconds and then says, “You don’t. It just would’ve been nice to know.”

Sam sticks out his tongue and lifts the covers before getting into bed. “Well, there’s nothing _to_ know because he’s not real. I’m just fucking with you because you act like you own my bed.”

Bucky lets out something that sounds like a sigh of relief and says, “I _do_ sleep in here half the time.”

Sam situates himself across from Bucky, his hands beneath the pillow under his head. He twists his lips to one side, thinking about that once again, and says, “Doesn’t mean you own it. As soon as I find myself a nice southern boy, it’s back to sleeping in your own room. I’ll buy you a body pillow.”

“ _Southern boy_?” Bucky scoffs. He shifts so that the exposed nub of his former limb isn’t pressed directly into the mattress. “Please. I’m pretty sure you’d up and change your major to business before _that_ ever happened.”

Sam laughs. “What makes you so sure? It could happen.” No, it couldn’t, and would not.

Bucky levels Sam with a look. He knows as much. “Not in this century.”

“Mm, you northern boys are better, huh?” Sam asks, poking fun.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky answers, but again his tone is mismatched, not quite lining up with their conversation. Just a tad too urgent. A smidge too serious.

Sam’s breath catches in his throat and he looks away. He lets a rueful smile play across his lips. “You’re not wrong.” A long sigh fills the space between them. “Too bad none of the nice northern boys that I’m interested in are interested in me.”

“They’re idiots if they aren’t.”

Sam thinks about Bucky’s bloody nose and laughs again, but it’s tainted with something like regret. “Yeah… yeah they are.”

Bucky frowns. “You okay?”

Looking up at him, Sam nods and says, “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “About a dumb boy?”

“Aren’t I always? I live with you, after all.” Sam’s deflecting, as usual.

Bucky knows this… As usual. “Need me to beat him up?”

Sam looks Bucky up and down and says, “I think that’d be kind of hard,” without adding, _considering the fact that it’s **you**._

“I could take him,” Bucky says easily.

“It’s _fine_.”

Bucky watches Sam, searching for that one moment where Sam lets himself slip. Reveals something in his face that Bucky almost _always_ picks up on. To avoid that moment, and subsequent conversation, Sam turns around and twists the knob for his bedside lamp until it turns off. “Come on,” Sam says. “Let’s get some rest.”

“Okay,” Bucky answers reluctantly.

It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into.

Bucky is the one that reaches out this time, pulls Sam close as if he were a pillow and just as easy to move as one. Sam would be indignant, but Bucky seems to be mostly asleep when he does it. Even so, Sam impatiently adjusts himself into a more comfortable position. It’s not easy with Bucky spooning him so dutifully, but he manages. A few minutes pass and Bucky’s arm tightens itself around Sam’s middle. Sam takes a deep breath and begins to loosen Bucky’s hold when lips ghost across the back of his neck.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath and freezes, but his skin betrays him, goosebumps rising in the surrounding area. Bucky’s warm breath scatters across the base of Sam’s neck, and something like sleep babble falls from his lips. Only half coherent. It stops for long enough that Sam thinks he’s home free, but just as he’s relaxing again Bucky’s lips find their way onto his neck, much more purposefully this time around. Predictably, Sam jerks forward with a small gasp, waking Bucky.

If there’s anything Sam doesn’t deserve, it’s this, and he most certainly did _not_ sign up for it. He’s thought about signing up, but he’s pretty sure applications are closed.

With a sigh Sam creates enough space between himself and Bucky that he can turn around slightly and jokingly says, “My imaginary boyfriend _definitely_ wouldn’t like that.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and pulls Sam back towards himself, petulant almost. He shoves his face in the space between Sam’s neck and shoulder and mumbles, “Sorry. S’dreaming.” After a moment to wake up, Bucky says, “We were sleeping together before your imaginary boyfriend came along anyway.”

Sam turns around fully this time and shoots Bucky a look “Excuse me. Don’t get too comfortable in my bed, it’s still reserved for myself and others first and foremost.” They’re close enough that Sam can feel Bucky breathing again.

There’s a moment where Sam almost thinks he’s won whatever this is when Bucky asks in a voice low and deep, “So what does it mean if I’m here almost every night?”

A small shiver runs the length of Sam’s spine, but he’s the only one that knows that. He looks Bucky over in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner and says, “You’re the one who’s always inviting himself into my bed. You tell me.” This time the feeling racing down Sam’s spine is a lot more like anxiety. He’s joking with Bucky, but he’s also _not_.

Without missing a beat, Bucky says, “It means I want your imaginary boyfriend gone.” Bucky sure as hell doesn’t seem like _he’s_ joking.

“Why is that?” Sam asks. Peripheral thoughts of demons crawling from TV screens are the farthest thing from his mind right now, but he’s breathless all the same. Different reasons. The fear feels similar though. Exhilarating in some ways, but sickening in others.

“I was here first.”

Sam holds his breath for a moment before he says, “So, what, you called dibs?”

“No,” Bucky answers quietly, his voice still sleep soft. “You’re not some inanimate object to be won.”

Unsure of whether or not he likes where this is going (he does, he’s just terrified), Sam lets out a nervous chuckle and says, “Go back to bed.”

Bucky stops Sam from turning back around and rests his hand on Sam’s cheek. He looks as if he’s gearing up for something big. His lips thin even more than they already were, and his chest stops moving. As soon as he leans forward Sam can tell why. Sam would hold his breath too. _Is_ holding his breath. He considers backing away, asking Bucky what the hell he’s doing, but he’s fixed in this one spot, in this one room, in the only place he wants to be. The option isn’t there, and even if it were Sam isn’t so sure he would move, or if he even could.

His eyelids flutter shut just as Bucky approaches, but rather than lips meeting, Bucky kisses the top of Sam’s cheek. It’s gentle and barely there, and if Bucky weren’t so close when Sam opened his eyes, he’d assume he made it all up.

Sam looks at Bucky, and the question _has_ to be written plainly on his face. _What was that? What is **this**?_

Sam’s not sure what else Bucky sees, all he knows is that Bucky leans in before he can say anything and kisses him for real. And what does Sam do? What comes reflexively. His eyes close and he kisses back, hungrily too, but only until he catches himself. Sam pulls back and blinks the fog from his eyes and his brain, and a sick feeling settles in his stomach. “Bucky, what are you doing?”

The unspoken question, the _real_ one, hangs in between them. _Is this just fun and games to you? Is any of it real?_

Bucky looks hurt, or maybe disappointed, Sam can’t tell. His mouth hangs open slightly until he bites his bottom lip and looks away. “Misreading this situation, obviously.” He awkwardly gets his right arm beneath him and pushes himself up.

Sam scowls then. “What are you – will you just sit down for a second?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and looks down at Sam. He doesn’t say anything so Sam says, “I just want to know what that meant to you. What any of it means…” he trails off as he thinks about all the things Bucky does for him, and in the true spirit of retrospect, all of it seems startlingly clear looking back. Sam looks up at Bucky after he turns on the bedside lamp and sits up. “All of it.”

The silence between them in the moments following that question feels miles wide and oppressive. Bucky looks to the side and his eyebrows fall in frustration. He glares at one of the pillows on the bed like it personally wronged him. “I – A lot.”

“Uh, _what_?”

Bucky looks back up, “It – _you_ – mean a lot to me. This,” he waves a hand between them, “is important to me.”

Sam swallows, and for a second it feels like his spit is so thick he won’t be able to breathe. It isn’t, so he takes a deep breath, does what his sister would call _sucking it up_ , and asks, “And what _is_ this?”

Bucky shrinks inward then, like he’s embarrassed. “Can we just – I don’t _know_... I don’t know what you are to me anymore.”

The thought makes Sam’s heart stutter, makes him feel like he’s been punched. But in the time it takes Sam to collect himself, he realizes he doesn’t know what Bucky is to him either. “What do you _want_ it to be?” Sam says, almost under his breath. He briefly considers running, but they have a lease together. _Fuck_.

“More?” Bucky answers, hesitant.

Sam frowns. “Was that a question, or?”

“Ugh. Sam you’re so – _no_. No it wasn’t a question. What do _you_ want it to be, huh?” Bucky grumbles. He presses his palm to one of his eyes and rubs. Those phosphenes behind his eyelids won’t transport him anywhere though.

“I – I don’t know.”

Bucky drops his hand and looks at Sam, long and hard. He slides off the end of the bed without another word and makes it to the door before Sam gets up and follows him, extremely lost again. It’s all so much and so confusing and it feels like neither of them is saying what they want to say while saying so much.

Bucky passes the center of the room, and their joined movements causes the decorative witch on their ceiling to light up and cackle as she falls. Both Sam and Bucky jump and reach for one another. Sam figures if anything makes a point it’s that. He sighs and slides their hands together, holding Bucky in place.

“I like us,” he says. “I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

Bucky picks up his hand like he might take it away, but he just looks at their hands together. “I like having a spot in your bed,” he confesses quietly. “And a body pillow would _not_ be the same,” he finishes with a humorless laugh.

“That bit upset you, huh?”

“No,” Bucky says as he shifts his view from their hands to Sam’s face. “Well, _maybe_. It just – mostly made me realize something I didn’t want to.”

“What?” Sam hazards.

“That I might lose my space on the other side of you.”

Sam’s hand closes tightly around Bucky’s and he does something he’s not sure if he’ll regret or not. The thought of _not_ doing it seems more regrettable, and Sam’s not sure what else to do. So, Sam tugs Bucky closer, releases his hand, and places both of his own on Bucky’s face before kissing him. Just like laying with Bucky on the couch, it feels right, and Sam likes the way they fit together.

Bucky wraps his arm around Sam’s middle and pulls him the rest of the way against his body. He leans into the kiss, presses his tongue to Sam’s lips in question, and when Sam responds by opening his mouth, Bucky happily continues. It’s messy, and both of them taste a little bit too much like bad popcorn and sleep, but Sam is surprisingly into it. He smiles into the kiss and then laughs, and Bucky pulls back, confused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam says, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s bottom lip. “It’s – you taste like cheap popcorn butter.”

“What do you think _you_ taste like?” Bucky asks, his voice jokingly pointed.

Sam pretends to think about it. “Something good, probably, since you wanted to kiss me so bad.”

Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat and takes his arm from Sam’s middle. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you _still_ want to kiss me.”

Bucky sighs through his nose. “Yeah. I do.” There’s a moment where he smiles to himself, but then he looks back at Sam and squints. “ _Wait_. Was I the stupid northern boy?”

Sam’s eyebrows climb and he opens his mouth a few times before he finally gets out, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” and turns back toward his room.

“I _was,_ wasn’t I?”

“Can’t hear you,” Sam says as he gets into his room. “You’re mumbling.”

Bucky huffs, frustrated, and then says, “Wait for me, it’s dark out here.”

Sam smiles and shakes his head, closes the door behind Bucky, and gets back in bed. Sam tells Bucky that _he_ gets the side with the pillows since Bucky was rude. Bucky makes like he’s going to argue, but capitulates when Sam kisses his cheek. He lets out a quiet sigh and rests his head on Sam’s chest.

Then, just as Sam is about to fall asleep he hears a creaky, whispered, “ _Seven dayssss._ ”

Sam pushes Bucky off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr [here on my "marvel" side blog](http://zamnwilson.tumblr.com/) or [here on my main blog](http://bioloyg.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And as always, please feel free to comment. Thanks for reading!


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